


One Last Party

by CheerfullyCynical



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: And the Doctor as always shows kindness, Angst, Basically, Bittersweet Ending, But life got in the way, F/M, I was going to do Whumptober, SO, The prompt was, and I only wrote the first prompt, shackled, the Master is looking for his old friend, very bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26817853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerfullyCynical/pseuds/CheerfullyCynical
Summary: The Master's final days are upon him. The Doctor plays the part of friend in his last moments.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	One Last Party

“Very funny.”

Although, nothing was funny about the situation. It had been eight months, six days, three hours, and fourteen minutes that the Doctor had been stuck in the maximum-security prison. River Song had once made an off-handed comment about “never being able to survive” in a cell, and it had only taken one week in isolation for her wife’s words to ring true.

“At least let me revel in it a little, love.”

She could feel the snarl on her face at the words – her eyes were very nearly slits as she stared at the ridiculously thick, glowing blue shackles around her wrists. They didn’t hurt, per say, but they made her life just a tad harder. She didn’t like being restrained, and she hated even more when it was _preventable._

“Haven’t you _reveled_ enough?” She asked, “Going by the outfit change, must have been years since you’ve seen me.”

The Master said nothing – the only sign that he heard her was the almost indiscernible tensing of his shoulders. The levers of her TARDIS were pushed down harder than necessary at his mood, and the old girl complained by harshly banking the pilot to the left, very nearly losing his footing.

“Damn sentimental thing,” He said, “Honestly, couldn’t steal one with less heart?”

Both her and the TARDIS hissed indignity at him, insulted. It was very nearly a crime on Gallifrey to insult one’s TARDIS, yet – _of course –_ he felt the need to push the boundary of their relationship.

A constant line in the sand, always ready to be crossed and made again.

In retaliation, the Doctor hung on awkwardly to a hidden railing under her console. In mutual agreement, the TARDIS bank _sideways,_ lifting him off the ground and throwing him, back first, into one of the many panels on the wall. He went down with grunt, hands catching his fall as the TARDIS righted herself, cussing in so many languages that she was impressed.

The Doctor wasted no time in taking back her own console, getting a glimpse at where exactly he was taking them, and then quickly towards the drawer that held her sonic screwdriver.

“Shouldn’t have insulted her,” She told him, _still_ slightly upset, “I mean, honestly, she’s older than both of us…” She had her hand around the sonic screwdriver with a triumphant smile, “You’re lucky, in fact. My friend Jack-”

A tight hand wrapped around her wrist, just below where the shackles were. He was gripping her so hard that the bones ground together. She cried out in shock more than anything, surprised that he would result to such violence. The sonic screwdriver dropped from her hand with a loud _clang._ She was forced to watch as it disappeared under her feet, far, far away from her.

She glared at him, finally angry enough really look at him.

It was the utter fear in his eyes that had her freezing in place, shocking and true. _Something_ changed around them – more powerful than time, more powerful than them. The very air shifted between them. They both stopped, hearts beating as one, a different world around them. It was as if they were children again in the moment, teasing each other.

She didn’t dare say anything as he released his ice-cold grip around her. Instead, it went slack, comforting in an odd way. Without a word, he used his other hand to press the release button on the middle of the shackles.

They clanged loudly against the TARDIS floor – deafening. They both refused to move.

The Doctor knew him – knew him better than he would know himself, even within all the madness. She knew the simple details, of his love of purple and his ridiculous outlook on the ‘finer things in life’. She knew that he would rather take his time with everything he did, rather than let the minutes pass in peace.

She knew that he loved her, billions of years ago… Knew that he hated her for millions. She knew that, deep down where he no longer could ever admit it, he still loved her. More so, he still wanted to be her friend – to have a connection that meant than just a small amount of time together.

It was in this moment, this strange moment on her TARDIS, drifting from somewhere to nowhere, that he had finally understood that being his friend was all she could ever want from him.

Soothingly, gently, she moved her arm, letting his grip flow over his skin and she claimed ownership of his hand. She squeezed once, comforted and not, and then, again, looked into his eyes.

“Haven’t got long now,” He whispered, a quiet confession, “Six, maybe eight months.”

He held up his free hand, pulling it away from his side with a grunt. With it came a bloody handprint. Still, with his own lifeblood on display, he looked the definition of composure.

Then, the words, with the action itself, hit their meaning.

_Oh._

It was the only word she could think of to describe the bundle of emotions that sprang at her from all sides.

“Twelves lives,” She asked, voice steady, “You’ve lived twelve regenerations?”

The Master looked proud, “Yes. Done them well enough.”

He would be proud – only he would be pleased with the chaos he had extracted throughout most his life. She wondered, suddenly, if that chaos had ever been used for good. Suddenly… The idea of redemption of his sins wasn’t so farfetched. Instead, it was an urgent matter. 

“Don’t look so put out, dear,” He replied, “honestly, looks like it’s your funeral rather than mine. This is supposed to be a party.”

Suddenly – far too many ‘suddenly’s for a Time Lord – _partying_ one’s death, as told by Gallifreyan culture rules – seemed insulating and ruinous. After all, with all of them gone, they had time to decide what was the best way to live your last days.

“A party,” She repeated, “With just you and me?”

“Well,” he said, squeezing her hand, “I’ve already burned enough planets in memorial. I was thinking… A more personal party.”

An image of him when him as a children, all smiles and loving eyes, came to her. All he ever yearned for was the Doctor’s attention. Still, his hand shook in hers. 

“A party.” she said, her throat tight. She thought of the flames he had put upon their home planet. She thought of that paralysis field he had imprisoned her in. She thought of Paris, of her companions, of what he had done to her – all the hurts he had done to her.

_Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind._

He deserved a few months of peace, if she could give them.

“Can’t spend it here in the TARDIS, can we? Noooo, we’ll have to go all out, isn’t that right old girl? I’m thinking somewhere hot, good for swimming. You could even convince me to go swimming. Haven’t been yet, after all. And…”

Even while she stirred them towards _any_ planet with a beach, his hand stayed in hers.

For months, they played their lie as partners and long-lost friends. It was some of the best months of her life, traveling with him.

And, as the stars moved around them day into day, month into month…

…

..

.

The Master moved with them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you would like to talk Doctor Who, need someone to talk to in these hard times, or just want a new blog to follow, I'm on tumblr at cheerfullycynicalfandom.tumblr.com


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